


On The Edge of an Answer (Beginnings Are Made)

by Mizzy



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Prequel, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series. Written for leverageland's Musical Inspiration challenge.  Based on some of the lyrics from "Monologue" by She Wants Revenge, and on the following exchange from "The Mile High Job":</p><p>Nate: You were right. 10 years ago, I saw you the first time. You were swiping a Degas from a collection in Prague. I saw you. You saw me.<br/>Sophie: I ran. You chased.<br/>Nate: Then, 2 years later, I caught up with you in Damascus... caught you, I should say. You turned around, introduced yourself and that's when I met Sophie Devereaux. It'll be 8 years next month.<br/>Sophie: Well played.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Edge of an Answer (Beginnings Are Made)

 

  
_On the edge of an answer you weigh lust_   


  


  
__  
_beginnings are made_   


  


  
_Lover forgive me, my guilt is my only crime_   


...

  
_Pretend all you want you can cry to your hearts own beat_   


  


  
__  
_We will take love and swear upon the things that we just cant keep_   


  


  
_This is the time of night when the moonlight shines down and we can reveal who we truly are_   


_...._

  
_If you're afraid to say_   


  


  
__  
_But you'd like to try_   


  


  
_Just give me the safe word and take your hand_   


  


  
_And smack me in the mouth ,_   


  


  
_my love?_   


  


  
_  
Selected lyrics from Monologue by She Wants Revenge   
_   


  


  
_  
_   


 

The moon was in its waning stage after Monday’s full moon, but it was still shining strong, and the woman calling herself Sophie Devereaux was peeved. If she had known the weather would hold so clear she would have held her fake art show outside. Sure, the sandy Syrian evening air wasn’t perfect for paintings, but this was the last night they would be her business. Come dawn she would be up three million easy, and she would  _finally_  be free of that Degas painting.

Swiping the Degas from Prague had seemed like such a great idea at the time.  _Two years_  to hock a single oil painting wasn’t her idea of a fast turnaround, but she had to make sure that the irritating insurance people were finally off her tail. She was clear, she was making a decent amount of cash, and that would have to be enough.

She mingled with the guests first, twirling her practised steps amongst them, pinpointing where the Marks were with a casual side glance here and there. Her Marks were on the hook, and Sophie felt dangerous. Predatory. Getting away with a con always felt like that, and slipping fully into the skin of one of her many identities was liberating. Sophie liked slinky dresses, and the navy satin number she wore now cinched at the right places to draw attention to her cleavage and hips. If they looked there, men never noticed what her hands were up to.

The facts were clear. She had more paintings. The crowd milling around her were rich. There was always the chance of a lucrative short con, even in the winding sprawl of a long con.

She contemplated a few people, hoping to find a man on his own. Her mental wishlist usually also included attractive and amusing but it didn’t matter; Sophie Devereaux could sell anything to anyone, and that included herself.

Then she found  _him._

(Even afterwards, two years later, nursing a gunshot wound in a dirty Parisian alleyway, she would never label it a mistake.)

She had no idea at the time of crossing the floor to get his attention that it wasn’t the best plan to reel this guy in. She only got the inkling when she positioned herself nearby and he took the bait, tapping her gently on the shoulder to get her attention. She turned, putting on her most seductive expression, and was met by an inquisitive but friendly expression. The man was undeniably handsome, eyebrows arched slightly, pink mouth twisted in a friendly manner, but it was his blue eyes – so very blue – wide and trained on her that made her realize something was different this time. She swallowed down her sudden, inexplicably dry mouth and pushed that feeling aside.

She had thrust her hand out automatically to him, which made her worry oddly for a second that all these persuasive techniques were becoming too ingrained, and what if one day she  _wanted_  someone to genuinely like her and she conned them without thinking about it? Those thoughts dissolved when he took her hand in his. The warmth and power of his skin touching hers would have shaken a lesser woman, but by now Sophie had realized why her reactions were so strong (basic attraction – rare but it happened every now and again) and she was already thinking furiously how to use this automatic frisson of chemistry to win this man over. If she happened to also charm him into her bed, then so be it.

“Hi. I’m Sophie Devereaux,” Sophie managed, which perhaps wasn’t the suavest of opening lines, but it seemed to be enough for him as his mouth widened into a smile.

“Nathan,” the man said, his low rumble of a voice as warm as his hand in hers. She pulled her hand out of his reluctantly and smiled her brightest smile. “You can call me Nate.”

“Nate,” Sophie said, as committing it to her memory, but it was already there; repeating someone’s name was just another technique to gaining someone’s trust. His smile widened a little, so she guessed it was working on him. His eyes flickered around the room, landing on the main board advertising the event and then back to her. She inwardly cheered as he made the connection.

“So you’re the exhibitor?” Nate’s gaze drifted inevitably to the creamy skin Sophie was deliberately showing, and she tried not to preen as she nodded. She gave him the fake story of why she was having the exhibit, and he responded to her gentle inquisitions positively but vaguely. He was staying at a 5* hotel, his clothes were well cut and – to Sophie’s chagrin – as he walked her around to the paintings he wanted to talk about his hand never slipped lower than the small of her back. Nate was obviously rich enough for Sophie to pull a con on. Yet Sophie for a moment had the oddest longing, that this man might just be that oddest, rarest of commodities – an honest man. If he was, he could possibly even turn her. She mulled it around in her head. Her. Sophie Devereaux. An honest citizen...

She felt let down when he looked at her with those clever blue eyes and – after darting another look around the room – he suggested a spell of fresh air where they could discuss –  _perhaps_  – a price reduction for a cash-only transaction?

Sophie felt an odd pang of a letdown and was just about to make some excuse to turn and walk away when his eyes fixed on something over in the corner. She followed his gaze. It was one of her Marks, an irritating man with dark eyes, and he was talking on a phone, and making a gesture to one hand to a guy near the door – who immediately walked out, talking to something low in his hand.

Nate made a hissing sound low in the back of his throat. “Idiot,” he said, inexplicably, and turned to her, an urgency in his face that stole Sophie’s breath. He turned his blue eyes directly to hers. “Do you trust me?”

The question was ridiculous, and startling, and  _no_  was her first thought, but somehow what came out was, “Yes. Yes, I do.” Sophie blinked, surprised, but Nate had already turned away. 

“Come with me,” Nate said, his voice absurdly casual, as he steered her towards the entrance. “Look casual. The police are on their way.”

“The  _police,_ ” Sophie said, almost dumbly, and she moved forwards automatically. Stepping out into the open door felt like taking a breath, and her stomach swooped for a moment when she realized Nate hadn’t followed her – but there he was, a moment after that terrible thought – hurrying through, a coat falling at his side that he must have paused to retrieve.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just walking around the corner as if they were just on a quiet moonlit stroll, and they drew no attention as Sophie – not quite at ease – followed him. A handful of seconds before Sophie was about to demand that he stop and explain himself, Nate stopped, turned and she froze as he reached into his coat and leaned something casually against the wall.

It was the Degas. The biggest painting and the crux of her entire con.

She stared at him wordlessly. Behind her, police sirens rose into the air, high pitched proof that following Nate was the right thing, but the shock of the painting clouded her mind. It made no sense. Who  _was_  this man?

“Turns out if you spend time with the host and then pick up a painting as if you have every right to, no one even challenges you,” Nate said, those blue eyes looking straight ahead. Sophie stared at him incredulously. He had seemed handsome inside, but outside, the moonlight spilling through his hair, highlighting the angles of his face into white light and shadow, he seemed almost another man – dangerous and still absurdly attractive. It was because he was a puzzle. She wanted to solve him. She wanted to take him apart.

She knew she never would.

“You’re a thief,” she said, proud of her steady voice, even though she failed to hide the impressed notes in her tone.

“ _You’re_  a thief,” Nate corrected, and although his face was hidden by moonlight and shadows, those blue eyes were locked on hers. “I’m just returning what you took.”

“But why just  _this_  one?” Sophie said. “It’s-“ She froze, a memory catching her, one of Prague. She had stolen the painting from a collection there, and was mid-getaway when a man with impossibly blue eyes had chased her through the night. Those same blue eyes were trained on her now. She connected the dots. “You’re an IYS agent.”

He made a small ironic bow from the waist, his eyes not leaving hers. “And unlike you, I don’t work alone. One of my idiotic colleagues couldn’t follow simple directions.” Nate turned his eyes in the direction of the still shrieking police sirens. “If it was up to him I’d be chasing you for another two years.”

Sophie risked a step forward. She had obviously escaped him once after all, and-

“I wouldn’t do that,” Nate said, even though he couldn’t have heard her, and hadn’t seen her. Resentment curled up her spine. Who was he to order her around? “My phone is tagged. All I have to do is press a button and the police will be here instead. I apologise for their presence. James is...” Nate’s mouth curled. “Impetuous. You met him.”

“I did?”

“He called himself Romo.”

Sophie winced. The dark eyed, unpleasant Mark.

“I see you recall him,” Nate said, sounding amused.

She had had  _enough_  of his self-assured manner. She turned to flee. His hand, gripping her wrist, turned her back. His touch wasn’t friendly now. She turned to him, eyebrows arched, mouth slightly parted in invitation. “So how can I help you?”

“More a matter of the other way around.” Nate stared at her unblinking. “I’ve quite enjoyed chasing you. I’ve got my property back, no thanks to my idiot colleague who tried to get it tied up in local criminal proceedings for the next twenty years. I don’t need the kudos for catching the thief on top.”

Wait, was he... he was  _letting her go_? “People like you don’t exist,” Sophie blurted, her eyes flickering over his face like he was a book she could read – but the language escaped her. “You must want something from me.” She stepped in closer, moving too much into his personal space, and she moved his spare hand to her hip. She could feel his hand tremble – a little, but enough – as he felt her warmth through the thin fabric, and his eyes dilated from her proximity.

He opened his mouth to say something, and he faltered, and although that was just a moment, it was enough. He was tempted. All Sophie had to do was-

Nate’s eyes shut for a moment, and he stepped back. Sophie felt oddly winded by the rejection. She had been so sure he wore no wedding band. But that wasn’t always concretely conclusive.

“You’re married,” she said, in the form of a statement even though it was a question.

“Yes,” Nate said, his voice tight. He looked flushed. 

“I’m a thief,” Sophie said. “Cheating doesn’t count.”

Nate laughed at that, the echo of it lightening the air, and Sophie loved the sound of it. “I cheated on God once,” he said, with a slow easy shrug. “I don’t think cheating  _again_  is the best strategical move.”

Sophie’s pang of regret doubled. He  _was_  an honest man after all. “Tell me why you’re out here when the police are in there.”

Nate’s eyes scanned the curve of her cheek. “I’ve got what I need.”

“And that’s it? I can go?”

“It won’t be the last I see of you.” Sophie didn’t have the lie in her to contradict him. “There is one more thing,” he added, like it was an afterthought.

He told her. Sophie digested it slowly and smiled. The smile felt unfamiliar on her face, like a word in Arabic she didn’t understand, until she realized it was a genuine smile. She didn’t know whether to like him or hate him for bringing it out of her.

Still, his plan was simple but devious. She would be light of the paintings, but she would be free. “So be it,” Sophie said, and looked at him. “You know, you would make an excellent grifter.”

Nate’s expression was one of schooled disbelief, but Sophie recognised that glint in his eye; he was picturing the glamour of the idea, the adventure, the romance. 

“You can’t hide that you want it,” Sophie said, teasing it out into the dark space between them. “It would be amazing. No one can hide in the moonlight.” She turned her gaze to it until his eyes followed her. “It shows us who we really are.” She stepped closer to him, close enough so he could feel her breath on his face. “Come with me,” she whispered, surprising herself with how much she wanted it.

He inhaled, once. Sharp. She knew his answer. They both knew it. He smiled anyway. “Sophie Devereaux,” he said, taking his time over her name like it was something special, but he took greater hold of the painting and stepped back, tilting his chin at her almost mulishly. “Make it look good.”

“Can’t have anyone thinking you just  _let_  me go,” Sophie said, and they shared a conspiratorial grin. “You would be awesome on my side,” she added, low and urgent, like he might have thought her saying it before was just part of their weird flirtation.

“In another life,” Nate finally acquiesced, a sad smile on his face. 

She hated that smile, the elegiac note in it, and surprising herself that’s what she went for - with a tight right fist, smacking him so hard she pulled her hand away to a streak of blood across her knuckles, and not all of it was his. He raised his head, a smile still on his face, even though blood ran beneath his teeth. He shook his head slightly.

“That one was free,” Nate said. “Next time, I’ll hit you back.”

“Next time,” Sophie said, smiling back at him, a smile heated with the potential of what could be between them.

The sound of footsteps broke them both from the spell holding them in place. He looked over her shoulder, his face suddenly drawn, and he nodded at her. She nodded back, turned, and ran. 

 _Next time,_  she had told him, and she had meant it. It was the closest thing she’d ever made in her life to a promise. She wondered if Nathan Ford realized that. She had the strangest, strangest feeling that he did.


End file.
